


Coma

by NYWCgirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: Coma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/pseuds/NYWCgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is badly hurt and slips in a coma, nobody expects what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coma

**Author's Note:**

> This story fills my `Coma´ square on my h/c bingo card. For more notes, please see at the end of the story as I don´t want to spoil anything.  
> Cross-posted on http://nywcgirl.livejournal.com/15728.html

Three weeks…

Twenty days had passed since Neal was brought into Mount Sinai by ambulance after an undercover operation had gone south.  
Neal had said the extraction sentence and the team came into action.  
By the time Peter and his team stormed into the office, Neal was laying on the road in a pool of blood. Peter checked frantically for bullet wounds, but to his horror he found Neal had a large head wound. It turned out that their suspect had made Neal and hit him with his car trying to get away.  
Neal was rushed to hospital but the brain swelling was significant and they needed to operate immediately.  
Several hours later, Peter was allowed to see Neal in the ICU, Neal was laying on his stomach in a bed that made Peter think of a massage table. His face was in a sort of opening in the headpiece of the bed. Through the opening, a breathing tube sneaked in his mouth. The back of his head was shaved and heavily bandaged and he was hooked up to several monitors, IV´s and drains.  
The doctor could only tell Peter that Neal had slipped into a coma and it was anybody´s guess when he would wake up and in what condition.  
June, Mozzie, El, even Jones and Diana all took turns to stay with him, so Neal was never alone. They talked to him, read stories or newspapers solved crossword puzzles or played music to him. June was even so generous to bring in a masseuse, to give Neal a back- and foot rub, as Neal liked to indulge in that sort of thing. If he would be locked in his body, maybe they could provide him with some comforts. El would put lip balm on his lips as the dried out because of the vent. Diana brought him warm fuzzy socks, OK, she was maybe mocking Neal, as the socks had little kittens on them, but still, it was the thought that counted.

Hours stretched into days, into weeks and Peter´s worry increased with every day Neal didn´t wake up.

* * * 

It was now almost three weeks and the doctor stopped being optimistic and started preparing everybody that this was possibly a permanent state and that they should look into long care facilities. Peter, however, wasn´t ready to give up on his friend and kept trying to stimulate Neal.  
Under Neal´s head, he had taped a poster of Monet´s Waterlilies on the floor. He would play all sorts of music and asked El to prepare his favorite dishes and bring them to the hospital so that Neal could maybe smell them.  
When he was reading or telling something, he would lay on the ground under the head side of the bed, that way he could see Neal´s face, although it was partly obscured by the ventilator. He could also avoid looking at those awful bandages that covered Neal´s head wound, if he was laying on the floor.  
Peter was reading Neal the sports section of the newspaper when an alarm went off. Peter looked at Neal´s face, but nothing had changed, as far as he could see.  
A nurse entered the room to acknowledge the alarm so Peter asked her what was going on.  
“Mister Caffrey is trying to breath over the vent.”  
“He´s what?” Peter asked skeptical.  
“It seems that he is trying to fight the vent, I will get a doctor. Relax Peter, this is good news” she explained.  
Peter was still laying on the floor under Neal and he tentatively touched Neal´s face. He quickly redrew his hand when the nurse came back in with the doctor.  
The doctor also supported the idea Neal was trying to breathe on his own, he ordered for the Neal to be weened off the Proporfol, so the doctors could determine if Neal was able to breathe on his own. But he had to be more aware to determine this.  
It was the first good news they had in three weeks and Peter felt tears built up in his eyes. 

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Neal became more aware and he was categorized as severe brain injury with a Glasgow of 7, meaning a minimal consciousness. But he continued to improve and his consciousness also improved.  
Neal always needed reassuring if he woke up, his heart rate and breathing would increase and he would start coughing, but he would settle down as soon as one of his friends reassured him. He would respond to commands, he would open his eyes, if asked to do so and soon, it was decided that he was able to be transferred to a normal ICU bed, which was a blessing for Peter´s back, as he could now hold his vigil in a chair.  
The next step in Neal´s recovery was the removal of the breathing tube. Neal was conscious but still pretty much out of it, so Peter was allowed to stay in the room with him during the procedure. Peter could only hope that it didn´t feel as bad as it had looked. But for the first time in weeks, Neal´s face was free of the vent and Peter gently touched his cheek. The nurse placed a nasal cannula and adjusted the IV´s and updated his vital signs in the chart.  
The nausea was really bad, and on a regular basis Neal wasn´t able to make himself clear that he was feeling queasy and he would puke all over himself. Luckily as he wasn´t on solid foods, it was almost only liquids, but still. The neurologist had explained that Neal had probably damaged his inner ear when he hit his head on the road and that was causing the nausea, he would probably be dizzy when he was awake, trying to sleep it off as a natural defense mechanism.  
They could assess the damage, but it involved a test called a Videonystagmography, which would be highly uncomfortable for Neal in his current state, so Peter agreed with the doctors to wait to assess the damage until Neal felt better and could communicate his discomfort.  
Neal hadn´t made any attempt to talk or interact with anyone, so the doctor maintained his status of minimal conscious.  
All of Neal´s friends came over to try and coax him into more awareness, but to no avail. It broke Peter´s heart to see Neal in such a state. His brilliant partner was reduced to a state of existence, instead of a life.  
A couple of days later, Peter came to the hospital to relieve Jones who had been sitting with Neal. He was clearly not feeling well, as he had his eyes closed and was really pale. Peter knew that once he would take a greener shade, it was time to get the bowl, but for know they were good.  
He sat down in the plastic torture device the hospital called a chair and started solving the cross word puzzle out loud.

“DOWN - Oh Neal, this one is for you. Word with wall or tower = CELL”  
“Suitable job = TAILOR”  
“Answer quickly = RSVP”

“ACROSS – Longtime NFL coach whose name is French for the handsome”  
When he heard the word LEBEAU whispered, the thought he imagined it. He looked up and saw that Neal was staring at him.  
“Like un bébé, 5 lettres” Peter said hesitantly.  
“PETIT” Neal whispered.

“Neal? Neal! Are you really with me? Nurse! Nurse!” Peter shouted, pushing the call button on the bed.  
“Neal, no, don´t close your eyes, do you know who I am?”  
“Pierre.” Neal slurred.  
“What did you say?”  
“Peter.” Neal tried, but it still sounded like Pierre.  
“Neal, do you know where you are?”  
« Hôpital?” Neal whispered, closing his eyes. His breathing evened out, so he must have fallen asleep.  
Peter left the room to talk to the nurse. The duty nurse assured Peter, they were coming, but there was an emergency with one of the other patients. True to her word, a couple of minutes later a nurse entered the room.  
“Mister Caffrey, can you open your eyes for me?” she asked gently.  
Neal started awake and looked blearily at the nurse.  
“Oh, mister Caffrey, welcome back.” the nurse smiled fondly. She went on to checking all of his vitals and told them both that she would be calling a doctor.  
“Neal, stay awake, please, the doctor will be here soon.” Peter sort of pleaded, rubbing Neal´s arm.  
« Qu´est-ce que c´est passé?” Neal asked quietly.  
“Neal, this isn´t funny.” Peter said confused.  
Neal couldn´t reply, because the doctor came in and did a quick neurological exam.  
“Can you tell me your name?” The doctor asked.  
“Neal Caffrey.” but to both the doctor and Peter´s amazement, it sounded French.  
“Why are you talking French?” Peter looked confused at the doctor and back to Neal.  
“Je ne parle pas Francais.” Neal also sounded confused.  
Peter turned to the doctor. “What is happening? Why does he speak French?”  
“I have no idea. We will have to do more test and I want to consult with some specialists.” the doctor looked as baffled as Neal.  
Later in the day, a speech therapist visited Neal and quickly came to the conclusion that Neal didn´t speak French, he still spoke English, but with such a thick accent that it sounded French. He too was baffled. He explained to Neal that he never had encountered this sort of behavioral change after a brain injury, but that he would consult with specialist.  
He explained to Peter that he would have to make the effort to communicate, as Neal couldn´t change the way he talked. Neal gave Peter an unsure look. It was obvious that he wanted to say something, but he hesitated.  
« Je suis fatigué, je veux dormir.” Again, Neal glanced at Peter, who grabbed his hand and squeezes it.  
“It is OK, Neal, we will figure it out. Rest.”

The next morning, the speech therapist arrives first thing in the morning and explains to Neal that he found a name for his problem: Foreign language Syndrome.  
“It is a rare condition, there are only sixty documented cases in the world. So I guess we have found number sixty-one.”  
Neal didn´t look impressed with this news.  
« Est-ce que c´est reversible?” He wanted to know.  
“No, this is a permanent disability as far as we can tell and non-reversible.” the specialist explained. “However, we can try to decrease the accent with speech therapy. The nausea should lessen as the brain starts healing.”

 

 

Epilogue

A year later…

The undercover operation is wrapped up without a hitch. Neal went in as an interested buyer, checked out the diamonds and said the take down sentence. The arrest was done without problems.  
By the time Peter is able to look for Neal, he can´t find him. After some asking around, Peter finds Neal sitting on a bench in a small park. He looked pale and exhausted. Peter knew that Neal had pushed himself on this case.  
“Hey, I lost you.” Peter tries casually.  
“Je sais, mais… sorry, I… know. I´m fine.”  
“I know that you are fine, but I think it s time for some rest. You did good. El told me to bring you home with me. She´s made your favorite.”  
Neal sighed, he knew what Peter was doing, but he also had to admit, he didn´t want to be alone tonight. It had been an exhausting case and although he was able to decrease the accent… when he was tired or distracted, it would slip back in.  
Mozzie even made him a new alias, Nicolas Baldi, was a Belgian diamond trader who lived in New York. It had been Mozzies´s way of coping with Neal´s disability.  
He looked back at Peter. “Merci… I won´t say no to a home cooked dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a real syndrome, I wrote the sentences in French to make sure that Neal sounded French, but in the real Syndrome, you will still talk your native language, but the accent is so thick that for anybody listening, it sounds a different language.


End file.
